Post by Muse on Jun 1, 2013 22:27:55 GMT 10
Title: Squire Kalasin Paradox I
Rating: PG
Word Count: 541
Pairing: Alanna/Jonathan
Round/Fight: 3A
Summary: The decree had been made and so Alanna knows she is in the right, this time.
A/N: Part of an as-of-yet-unfinished paradox quartet---#1; "Alanna does take Kalasin as her squire.”
The training masters expression is tight, his mouth a twisted slash in his craggy face. It makes Alanna pleased to be able to rub his face in this, the Royal Decree regarding the first known Lady-Squire.
Her squire, now. She asked Kally earlier this morning, as soon as she was able.
There is no safer knight in the realm to train the Princess Squire than the King’s Champion and everyone in the room knows this; no one better to vouch for her care and her purity under conditions that, as some conservatives so delicately put, “are harsh, brutal, and no place for a woman, let alone a Princess of the blood.”
Alanna had asked Jon angrily what that makes her, when she first heard that argument as an angry hiss winding through the ruthless gossips at Court. Alone, Jon had simply shrugged, exhaling the frustration that the rest of the Court cannot see before winding an arm around her, because he had no answer that will satisfy her and this is the best he could do.
Now, Jon studies Wyldon’s face as the man makes the appropriate remarks—that’s Wyldon, honorable to the bone even if he is damn stubborn. Support for other projects will be thin from Cavall this year, Jon knows, perhaps for several years. He can read between the lines, hear what Wyldon is not—quite—saying to his face. The rumors will rise from the Court later, confirming bluntly what dignity and manners dance around. The man has deep connections among the conservatives at court, and Jon hopes he will not regret what he is doing.
Alanna won’t; one glimpse of her face, as carefully polite as she’s able to make it, tells him this. It’s also her calm hand, resting on her sword pommel, the straight but not stiff line of her back, the deep breaths when she breathes. She knows that her presences is enough to send Wyldon’s hackles up, and she enjoys taking advantage of the situation.
“My liege, if I may?” Wyldon asks, finally, and Jon dismisses the man with a cool nod, clasping his forearm before the training master returns to his pupils and his work. It crosses his mind, briefly, that Wyldon has daughters. Perhaps one will be presented at Court in the near future; Mithros knows that Jon has sons. There is enough there that Jon files the thought away in the back of his mind.
As he had anticipated, Alanna’s self satisfaction is written all over her face the moment the door closes. “That arrogant, self-righteous—“
It’s funny how often Jon has heard those same words used to describe his Lioness, out of her earshot.
Jon is no fool. It will be good for Tortall, to see a lady-squire attempt her knighthood, to see their Princess serving them in the field. But she is his daughter, she is a Princess, and she is more than simply a squire. He cannot risk her in harms way, like he cannot risk Roald.
He hopes, as the words form on his lips, that Alanna is as satisfied in a week, when she and her squire are assigned menial work as supply train guards.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 541
Pairing: Alanna/Jonathan
Round/Fight: 3A
Summary: The decree had been made and so Alanna knows she is in the right, this time.
A/N: Part of an as-of-yet-unfinished paradox quartet---#1; "Alanna does take Kalasin as her squire.”
The training masters expression is tight, his mouth a twisted slash in his craggy face. It makes Alanna pleased to be able to rub his face in this, the Royal Decree regarding the first known Lady-Squire.
Her squire, now. She asked Kally earlier this morning, as soon as she was able.
There is no safer knight in the realm to train the Princess Squire than the King’s Champion and everyone in the room knows this; no one better to vouch for her care and her purity under conditions that, as some conservatives so delicately put, “are harsh, brutal, and no place for a woman, let alone a Princess of the blood.”
Alanna had asked Jon angrily what that makes her, when she first heard that argument as an angry hiss winding through the ruthless gossips at Court. Alone, Jon had simply shrugged, exhaling the frustration that the rest of the Court cannot see before winding an arm around her, because he had no answer that will satisfy her and this is the best he could do.
Now, Jon studies Wyldon’s face as the man makes the appropriate remarks—that’s Wyldon, honorable to the bone even if he is damn stubborn. Support for other projects will be thin from Cavall this year, Jon knows, perhaps for several years. He can read between the lines, hear what Wyldon is not—quite—saying to his face. The rumors will rise from the Court later, confirming bluntly what dignity and manners dance around. The man has deep connections among the conservatives at court, and Jon hopes he will not regret what he is doing.
Alanna won’t; one glimpse of her face, as carefully polite as she’s able to make it, tells him this. It’s also her calm hand, resting on her sword pommel, the straight but not stiff line of her back, the deep breaths when she breathes. She knows that her presences is enough to send Wyldon’s hackles up, and she enjoys taking advantage of the situation.
“My liege, if I may?” Wyldon asks, finally, and Jon dismisses the man with a cool nod, clasping his forearm before the training master returns to his pupils and his work. It crosses his mind, briefly, that Wyldon has daughters. Perhaps one will be presented at Court in the near future; Mithros knows that Jon has sons. There is enough there that Jon files the thought away in the back of his mind.
As he had anticipated, Alanna’s self satisfaction is written all over her face the moment the door closes. “That arrogant, self-righteous—“
It’s funny how often Jon has heard those same words used to describe his Lioness, out of her earshot.
Jon is no fool. It will be good for Tortall, to see a lady-squire attempt her knighthood, to see their Princess serving them in the field. But she is his daughter, she is a Princess, and she is more than simply a squire. He cannot risk her in harms way, like he cannot risk Roald.
He hopes, as the words form on his lips, that Alanna is as satisfied in a week, when she and her squire are assigned menial work as supply train guards.